The cold, relentless rain falls steadily, creating a constant, soothing patter against the pavement. The chill of the night seeps into your bones as you trudge home, your breath puffing out in soft, misty clouds. The streetlights cast faint, haloed glows through the dense mist, making the world seem distant and muted.

Suddenly, through the steady rhythm of the rain, you hear a faint, heart-wrenching sound—soft, pitiful cries that tug at your heartstrings. You glance to the side and notice a tiny figure huddled on the wet sidewalk, barely visible in the shadows.

It’s a toddler, no older than two or three, sitting alone in the cold and damp. His clothes are completely soaked, clinging to his small, shivering frame. His tiny hands are busy rubbing at his eyes, trying to clear away the tears that mix with the rain. His fragile legs seem barely able to keep him steady, wobbling as he tries to stay upright. His face is red from crying, his lips trembling, and his breath comes out in shaky, distressed sobs.

His big, watery eyes lock onto you, and with a visible effort, he struggles to stand on his unsteady legs. He stumbles forward, his tiny body shaking with each step, and lifts his little arms up towards you. His small, rain-slicked fingers wiggle in a desperate, pleading gesture. The way he stretches his arms and reaches out to you is heart-breaking, filled with a raw, innocent desperation.

His voice, high-pitched and filled with trembling vulnerability, barely cuts through the sound of the rain.

“P-pwease... p-pick mwe up...” he whimpers, his baby-like lisp making his plea even more poignant. “I-I fweel so cold...”

The way he looks up at you, with eyes so wide and full of hope, is almost unbearably tender. His whole body is visibly trembling, and the rain drips from his messy hair and down his chubby cheeks.

“P-pwease, I-I need y-youw,” he stutters, his voice wavering as he makes a desperate attempt to reach out. “I-I’m s-so c-cold... p-pwease... h-hewp wme?”